The chains binding
Have been broken
I still have the cuffs
I may be walking free
But my hands are still weighed down
Now I’m finding
Me, myself and I

I wish to see clearer
Past imperfection
Yet, chains are heavy
Even after they have been broken

Look in the mirror
I hate my reflection
I feel infected
Self-hate as my infection
Have I lost my direction?

"No, you aren’t the definition of perfection
That doesn’t mean to hate your reflection
Maybe you have lost your direction
You see you have to be lost before you become found
Don’t forget you no longer have a need to be bound
You have been crowned
There is no one just like you
A ruler of yourself you are
When you look at the night sky
Admire the stars
You are a star"

You are art

To be

Art

To me.

My perspective
my situation
my view

my me
my you
       varies
       alters
       glitches
Passing through

A parallel universe

                                            You

What is what?
And who is who?
What is me?
And what is you?

Oh,
what must it be like
to see
and be
true.

There are so many ways to learn and grow,
to challenge one’s views of life, of death,
of the time in between.

At times, yes, there is a harshness to the wind,
a bite in your mother’s words and an unrelenting squirrel
emptying your bird feeder, but
know that there will be reward for your
continued generosity of thought,
and your assumption of the best in everything.

Given patience, the universe reaches out with gentle touches,
leaving offerings of love in the form of smooth pebbles,
pigeons and friends who offer to buy lunch.

We must learn to accept
the love we are offered,
no matter how unconventional.
Seek this love, be it in the form of a high five,
or in extra napkins for your glovebox,
in petting friendly stray cats.

Find love everywhere
and accept it, because those moments are the other half of the transaction.
Where you offer up time, the universe looks to compensate your loss.

Accept the spare dime in your cup holder, the acorn cap left on your windowsill
and the smiley face drawn on your cup,
as signs that the love you put out is equally
and fully returned by the world.

A wise man thinks knowledge is power
A smart man thinks ignorance is bliss.

"I want to be just like you,"
I say to the decrepid old man.
"Just like you someday."

His laugh is raspy and thin
"My boy," he manages between his coughs,
"What is there left to desire?"

My giggle is the sound of songbirds
and churchbells ringing.

"Your eyes are bright,
they speak of hope and love.
Your mind is sharp,
full of lessons and wisdom.
Your mouth is tilted,
always curved into a slight smile.
Your wrinkles are deep,
laugh lines from years of use."

"But, my boy," he responds
in a gentle tone,
"My body is weak,
my hair is grey,
my brain forgetful,
and my money is none."

"And yet," I press,
"your gaze is soft,
your regrets are few,
your patience endless,
and your forgiveness infinite."

"And because of that," I conclude, "I want to be just like you."

A brief moment in life caught forever
Shaped by the past and influencing the future
An image so striking and so bleak
It's says nothing but speaks volumes
It brings out emotions from deep within you
Provoking, judgemental, intimidating, humiliating
Persuading, praising, encouraging, hoping
You stare deeper and more profound
Nothing has changed but nothing has stayed the same
Familiarity overcome by ignorance
Pride outshined by modesty
The photograph an effigy of yourself in a reflection forever captured but soon forgotten.

Why so little introspection?
Why the superficiality?
Why the incessant conspicuity,
Obsessing over ‘their’ perception,
Not even based in reality,
Living so image driven
With worries 'bout reputation?
Why no motivation then?
Because no one knows your efforts given?
Perhaps there's too much value on what other people think of us
And too little upon ourselves,
Our story that no one tells
And the truths we don’t discuss.

It's the same familiar road,
Dark and slightly paved,
Toward which my soul drifts at nighttime,
Pulled by nearly broken chains.
Sleepwalking to find some danger
Where, among the chaos, it can feel
A little less like a stranger;
Around the blind side of a curve.

While I sleep, it finds a way
To - despite my slumber - travel.
Lying down, and replaying how
Life and death, seemed to briefly
                    Stop their battle . . .
And rest so soundly,
Sprawled out, side-by-side,
Strewn 'cross the roadway's gravel.

           - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Each morning I awake
And to the same spot I've returned,
Lying next to my soul, in wait,
For a lucky car to make its turn.
I stand up, and spark a cigarette
-- click --
Just to watch the orange light burn.

        I inhale the noxious gases,
        As a car skids, and passes.
        I start back home with a shrug,
        And flick the ashes to the masses,
        Burn some bibles, and break some glasses.
        And as the rain soaks to my skin,
        It corrodes the memory like acid.